


Worth a Thousand Words

by SpicyCheese



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Humor, the metropolitan museum of art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyCheese/pseuds/SpicyCheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root is working surveillance for their new number- a docent at the art museum. Shaw joins her and can't find one thing she likes in the whole place. Well, maybe <i>one</i> thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth a Thousand Words

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

“This is such a waste of time.”

You feel your lips twitch up, a smile already forming. Grumpy Shaw is your favorite and she’s in rare form today.

“Well,” you begin, “I did tell you all this morning that it’d most likely be just surveillance, so I’m not sure what you’re complaining about.”

The number in question was an Irrelevant one- Mark Branson, the newest addition to the docent pool at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Even from your spot towards the back of the crowd you can tell he’s bumbling through the tour. The rest of your group, mostly senior citizens, seem to like it well enough, though.

You’d been content to follow the number on your own today, and were surprised when Shaw showed up unexpectedly to join you, at the last moment. When you asked her why, she simply shrugged, giving no further explanation. As much as you're intrigued, you’re certainly not complaining. Not when it comes to spending more time with Shaw.

“I didn’t mean the job, though following this idiot is definitely a waste of time as well. I meant all of _this_ ,” Shaw continues, gesturing to the room around them.

“Really.” you deadpan. “Art museums are a waste of time?”

“ _Art_ is a waste of time.”

You chuckle and when she hears it her scowl deepens. You can’t help it though, she sounds like a moody teenager. At that thought, you find yourself suddenly picturing High School Shaw. You can just see it: Wearing her all-black ensemble like a uniform, stomping through hallways in oversized boots, scowling at mentions of prom and sending frightened Freshmen scattering like cockroaches with just a look. John Bender would be proud.

You shake your head, bringing yourself back to present Shaw instead. “You can’t honestly believe that all art is pointless.”

“I understand if it’s a civilization recording their history or whatever, but _this?”_ She says, gesturing to painting beside her. “It’s just random shapes and colors. _This_ is pointless.”

You recognize the painting. It’s a Miro, and you find if quite delightful but right now it’s not the most interesting thing in the room. _Shaw_ is.

Understanding Sameen Shaw- if such a thing is possible- is one of your favorite past times. Following right behind _needling her until you get a reaction_ , of course.

Shaw is a lesson in subtly. Every look, every gesture, ever _word_ she says is a clue. You like to think you've gotten good at reading such clues, but you know it’s only the tip of that iceberg. So you've become a bit of a scientist about it. Observing her and her reactions to different things. Experimenting to see what makes the biggest explosion.

And you’ve just found today’s experiment: Subject encounters new variable- Art.

“Well,” you begin. “You know, art’s not about just making something that _looks_ interesting.”

“Someone should probably tell the artists that,” she smirks.

“I just mean that it’s more about what it _evokes_ in you.”

“Do I need to remind you that feelings aren’t really my specialty.”

“Oh, believe me,” you smile. “ _I know_. But you have gut reactions though, don’t you?”

“Yeah, to people shooting at me. To active situations. Generally not to useless things hanging on the wall.”

The tour group pauses in front of a large, familiar looking painting.

“Well what about this one?” you say, gesturing to the piece. “What do you think about it?”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“And?”

“And it’s _Washington Crossing the Delaware_.”

“ _And?_ No other impressions, thoughts?”

“Well, it’s bigger than the picture of it, from my high school’s AP History textbook.”

 _Really?_ You think, giving her a look.

“What?” She bites back.

You sigh a quiet, “Nothing,” before returning your attention to your number.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

Somewhere between the _European Decorative Art_ and _Modern and Contemporary_ , you've become determined to find a painting Shaw likes.

This started out as a fun game for you, another little experiment in pushing Shaw’s buttons, but somewhere along the way it became _her_ toying with you instead. Somewhere along the way, finding a painting- finding _something_ that Shaw likes- has taken on a weird sort of importance for you.

“What about this one?”

“This one kinda pisses me off, actually.”

“Really?” You feel both eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You weren't expecting a reaction to something as subtle as a Rothko.

“Yeah. It pisses me off that some idiot decided to paint a red square and just because some other group of idiots decided it was important or special, it’s worth millions of dollars. It’s literally just a red square. _I_ could do this.”

 _Of course_ , you think, chuckling. “Always such the typical cynic Sameen; knowing the price of everything and the value of nothing.”

“Thank you Oscar Wilde, but I really don’t see the _value_ in something a 3 rd grader could do.”

"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree about this one."

"And the last one. And the one before that..." She says, eyes focused ahead on their number, who is still sweating through his tour. "Could this be any more boring?"

"I don't know, I'm enjoying the ambiance..." You smirk, turning your head to look at her profile. "And the company, of course."

She sighs and quickens her pace, catching back up to the tour group. You smile, and follow suit.

 

*_*_*_*_*

 

“Ooo! What about this-“

“-Save it Root. I know who Georgia O’Keefe was, and all I see is a dumb flower.”

“It was worth a shot.”

You both walk in silence, a bit further. The tour guide has stopped in front of a Picasso, and is in the middle of discussing the painter’s different eras, when Shaw finally speaks again.

“I don’t know why you’re being so weird about this today,” she says, her attention staying forward at their number, not bothering to glance your way.

“Weird about what?” You play innocent.

"Weird about me. And paintings. I’m not going to be moved to tears by colors on a canvas, if that’s what you’re expecting.” She sighs.

“I never thought you would be.”

“Then what _are_ you expecting then?” she says, turning to face you finally.

You shrug. In truth, you're not really sure. Shaw's right of course, it's highly unlikely she'll ever be moved to tears by art, or probably anything else but... you still expect _something_. She does have reactions, positive and negative, so there must be some sort of preferences there. Some rhyme or reason to the things she finds appealing.

You realize Shaw is still staring, and you remember she asked you a question. Finding your voice, you reply, "Just trying to get a read on what you like is all." You add a smile, your flirtiest one, to cover your tracks.

Shaw stares hard at you for another moment. Most people would squirm under the scrutiny, but you love it. You love it because you know she could just ignore you. But she doesn’t. You make her feel something (even it if it’s just a burning rage) and it’s in those actions- those reactions- that you believe that Shaw cares. Even a little.

Finally, Shaw rolls her eyes (your favorite reaction of all!), before turning and following the group once more.

The tour continues to meander through galleries, pausing now and again. They stop at another and their number prattles on about the large landscape painting. The left side of the image is dark and wild, forest shadowed by retreating thunderstorm clouds, while the right side shows the peaceful, bright river valley below.

Their number finishes up, and urges the group on. Shaw stays put though, still examining the painting. You move to stand beside her. After a moment, she mutters, “This one. I guess.”

You look from Shaw to the painting and back again. "What about it?"

“I like it.”

 _That_ you were not expecting. Your brain whirs, cycling through several follow up questions, several iterations, trying to choose your words perfectly. After a moment, you give up, and settle for a simple, “Why?”

Shaw’s shrugs. “I just do,” she says, before she starts to walk away.

“Wait, you ‘ _just do_?’ That’s it?” You stand, slightly defeated.

"Yeah. _That’s it_.” She growls back. “I either like something or I don’t, Root. And I don’t waste time on things I don’t like.”

You're about to reply when something dawns on you. “If that’s so,” you grin, “and if art museums are a waste of time, and surveillance on this guy is a waste of time… Sameen, did you come here today just to spend time with _me_?”

Shaw 's face flushes slightly and she clenches her jaw, and scowls at you. You grin ever _harder_ , if that's possible, and she lets out a disgruntled huff before rolling her eyes again. She turns, stomping away, following the tour almost up and around the corner before pausing. She turns back towards you, still scowling her hardest. “Well? Are you coming or what?” she mutters before disappearing around the corner with the group.

You follow, lengthening your stride until you fall in-step beside her once more. You can feel the anger radiating off her, so you wait a few minutes before you speak up again.

“You know,” you begin, still grinning. “I heard the Dining Room restaurant upstairs has a swordfish dish that is to die for.”

“Members only,” she all but grunts.

You take a small red and white card out of your pocket. “Good thing my cover identity Connie Stevenson, art museum enthusiast, is a member then." You smile lightly, before leaning down sand whispering conspiratorially in Shaw's ear, "Wanna be my plus one?"

You glance down at the shorter woman's profile and catch the movement- the way the side of her mouth ticks up, ever so slightly. The smile is subtle, but there. “ _Fine_ ,” she grumbles, doing her best to look sullen. “But you’re buying. And I'm getting a cheeseburger too. And fries. And a whiskey.”

“Of course, Sam. Whatever you like.”

*_*_*_*_*

 

**Author's Note:**

> And, because I'm a dork, here are the paintings referenced (in order of appearance):
> 
> Joan Miró, _Women, Birds, and a Star_ , 1949
> 
> Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze, _George Washington Crossing the Delaware_ , 1851.
> 
> Mark Rothko, _No. 3_ , 1953
> 
> Georgia O’Keeffe, _Black Iris_ , 1926.
> 
> Thomas Cole, _The Oxbow_ , 1836.


End file.
